Midnight Eyes by Brophy, Sarah (well read books .TXT) 📕

a cloth to cover his loins, and grimaced at the sight of the bruises and cuts that now decorated his body.

Nothing fatal.

All in all, he supposed he should be grateful that it was only superficial damage. He felt only a little worse than the time he had been run over by a herd of stampeding warhorses, he thought with a dark smile, then winced as the cut on his lip reopened.

He struggled into a sitting position, then, with a deep, steadying breath, tried to stand up. He was quickly forced back to his knees with a thump by the chains on his wrists. The bastards had deliberately shortened them. It was impossible for him to stand to his full height.

He clenched his jaw tightly and waited for the pain to pass.

Brilliant, he thought bitterly, William really was determined to keep him on his knees. He eased his legs out and tried to settle down in the straw. He wrapped his arms tightly around his ribs to hold them still, and then leaned his head back against the cold walls.

He closed his eyes to see if he could find some comfort in sleep, but the taste of failure was still too bitter on his tongue. Despite all his best efforts he had delivered Imogen directly into the hands of her enemy. He allowed himself only a few short minutes to dwell on self-pity, guilt and regret, letting them consume him, then he carefully shook himself free.

It did Imogen no good, and her safety was the only thing he would allow his mind to dwell on. That was all that mattered now.

Matthew might even now be free and heading north to mobilize Gareth and the other knights. Imogen could be safely out of the country before Roger could do her any more harm. Gareth would see to that. He would get her out of this country, hide her away so that she could be safe. He would look after her, would make sure that she was free.

Perhaps he would even marry her. He would, of course, wait politely for her to forget her husband of such a brief time.

Robert gritted his teeth as jealousy consumed him, but he couldn’t let that emotion deceive him. He had seen a little of his own love for Imogen burning in the other man’s eyes. It made sense that if they were brought together, then love would have to declare itself eventually, and Imogen would be a fool to deny herself a chance of happiness.

It was only natural.

Jealousies burned bright and clear in his chest at the thought of any other man claiming Imogen for his own; of any other man but himself guiding her through her days; of any other man holding her at night as she gave in to the passion that burned in her soul.

He longed to cry out. Don’t touch her, she’s mine! She’s the other half of my soul, my reason for living, my love and my life. Mine.

But it was a cry in the wilderness.

“Imogen,” he sighed, and knew it was an unachievable prayer. The only place where she was unquestionably his was in his heart and mind. He closed his eyes and conjured her from his memories, re-creating what he needed most.

He proved to be too good at imagining. He had to clench his hand to stop himself reaching out and trying to touch the vision of her that his mind had produced to torment him. If he did that, she would disappear and he needed her like he had never needed anything before in his life.

He saw her as he liked to see her best.

She stood naked and happy, her face glowing with peace. Her hands rested pertly on her hips, her head held at a saucy angle as she seemed to regard him. She was so achingly real that Robert could have almost sworn that the scent of her perfumed hair drifted through the cell to tantalize his senses.

He watched transfixed as her lips soundlessly whispered the words his heart longed to hear.

“I love you.”

He smiled gently and murmured aloud, “I love you too.”

This time, when he slipped from consciousness he was surrounded by memories of Imogen and dreams of the life that they might have built together at Shadowsend. His last conscious thought was that the mad must truly be happy men, if they were all greeted by such visions once their sanity had been dismissed.

Then he thought no more.

Chapter Thirteen

Matthew sighed and lowered the wine jug to the floor, more than a little reluctant to actually sober up, but Robert needed him. That meant Matthew would do everything in his power to help.

Well, try to, anyway.

He stared at the ceiling and had to smile wryly as he acknowledged the folly he had committed himself to. Of course he would do what Robert had asked of him, just as soon as he worked out how the hell it was to be done. Sure, Robert had made it sound easy enough. Escape and warn Imogen. What could be simpler?

Pulling your bottom lip over the top of your head for one, Matthew thought with a derisive snort that echoed in the silently empty room. No, it was no simple thing the boy asked, and Matthew had years of painful experience to compare it with.

But difficult or not, he still had to do it.

Slowly he moved his legs over the edge of the cot and eased his feet onto the floor. A raspy groan escaped him as he sat up, his stiff legs protesting his sudden desire to move. He narrowed his eyes and took a deep, steadying breath. At least the room remained stationary. That meant he wasn’t drunk, despite all of the cheap liquor he had ingested over the past days, which was only fair at his age.

He deserved to have a hard head. It compensated for the rheumatic pain that seemed to fill every joint in his body as he tried to lever